Now he was proving it again. Each time was a new time and he never thought about the past when he was doing it.
Ernest Hemingway
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A wine shop was open and I went in for some coffee. It smelled of early morning of swept dust spoons in coffeeglasses and the wet circles left by wine glasses.
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I had seen nothing sacred and the things that were glorious had no glory and the sacrifices were like the stockyards at Chicago if nothing was done with the meat except to bury it.nbsp
- Ernest Hemingway -